Final Fantasy Foundation
by Eri Colt
Summary: What is taught as the history of Spira is only part of the story. The descent to Sin started with the father of Yu Yevon, and an arrogant, decadent culture that very well may have deserved what the future held for them.


I took over this story with permission. The first chapter can be found here: FFnet /s/2686216/1/Foundations (sorry, but this site is retarded about URLs) That was just a one-shot and I'm looking to turn it into a multi-chaptered fic. We'll see how well I do with it. I might have to stop if it doesn't come out well. :-P

Leoric, Mabon, Esselt, and Caderyn are all by BV. The rest are mine. The world and everything in it is Square-Enix's.

o

Four of Bevelle's gunmechs, robots twice as tall as a human and armed with rapid-fire guns instead of arms, marched down the main avenue of Zanarkand, guarding the chocobo-drawn carriage of the Duchess of Bevelle, Alemene, and her priestess companion. The crowds on either side the street shouted at them as they passed; several threw broken pieces of pottery and brick at the mechs. Holding the crowd back, the army of Zanarkand, widely known as the Guardians (as their main purpose was to guard the summoners while they called forth an Aeon), was spread out between the people and the carriage.

Cries demanding the removal of the gunmechs from Zanarkand land filled the air. Zanarkand and Bevelle had always been at odds with each other and the main reason for it was Bevelle's use of machines to replace everything that was rightfully the work of man. Zanarkand was technologically advanced, more so than their rivals, but they had always adhered to the Supreme Mandate of technology: machines weren't meant to replace man.

Standing in the middle of the Central Plaza, just behind a table under an awning, Leoric Yevon was dressed in his finest robes and tunic. By tradition, ambassadors were met in public where any citizen could request to speak, though it was rare that Leoric ever allowed one of the lowly peasants to speak directly to him, much less an honored envoy.

"What did she say her reason for coming here personally was?" he asked Mabon, who stood beside him.

"She wishes a marriage, milord."

Leoric let out a hearty laugh. "Marriage to whom? My son is an infant, I have my Chosen, and you have can't take a wife."

"Not to someone in your court, lordship. She has brought a companion, someone to be the voice of the man she wishes. I am assuming he is busy and she wishes the ceremony in Bevelle, performed by myself with you as witness."

The carriage entered the plaza and the gunmechs moved to stand along the edge of the square. Law stated they couldn't get any closer to the Grand Summoner and if anything good could be said of Bevelle, it was that they were a law-abiding people.

"Why can't her cleric in Bevelle do it?" Leoric asked.

When the carriage stopped in front of them and the door opened, Leoric had his answer. From one side stepped out Alemene, from the other was Bevelle's priestess of the Church.

"No way in Hell," the summoner said, not quite believing the first thought that came to mind. Priestesses could only speak for those higher than themselves in the Order of the Fayth.

Alemene was a young, beautiful woman, always dressed in a pure white gown. She walked toward them with grace rising above any Fayth. Her smile was more than enough to bring joy to the lives of most people, men and women alike. Leoric loathed her.

Smiling to her as she approached, he said quietly without moving his lips, "Look at that wreath on her head… shining golden just like a Titan's halo. She has some nerve."

"Yes, sir," Mabon said. Once Alemene was within earshot, he spoke to her. "We humbly welcome you to Zanarkand, Duchess, and ask you sit at the table of the Grand Summoner to speak as you will."

In her soft voice, she replied, "I accept your invitation and ask that my companion, Megaera, adjunct to the Cleric of Bevelle, will sit as an equal as the voice of her master."

Leoric and Mabon both looked over at the second woman. She was dressed in the same manner as Alemene and looked nearly the same at the distance she stood. The only major difference was that she was blonde while Alemene had brown hair.

Leoric sat down at the table, motioning for the three others to sit. Mabon sat beside him and the two women sat across from them. As soon as they all sat he motioned to the crowd and said, "They can't hear us so to Hell with formalities. What do you want?"

Alemene lowered her head and clasped her hands, resting them on top of the table. "I would not come to you normally. I know that our cities have had their differences and will continue to have them. However, you are the only one left that I can come to. Luca, the old Empire islands, the Bikanel Confederacy, and the Guado communes have all turned down my requests. They say they cannot condone this union."

"You mean you wish for your cleric to become your husband, correct?"

"Yes, Leoric, I do."

Mabon looked at his master and then at the women. "Your master wishes to go against his vow to the Fayth themselves and become someone's Chosen. He will place a woman before your creators and rulers."

The priestess glared at him, "He made no such vow to Fayth. You may worship them but Bevelle does not."

"Obviously not, as you build machines to replace the minds of men!" Mabon roared.

Megaera screamed back at him, "We do no such thing; we make the lives of our people easier so that they don't have to suffer dangerous or demeaning labor! So that they aren't thrown out into the battlefield needlessly!"

"Your gods will strike you all down for your blasphemies!"

"Our only mistress is Alemene, you sycophant."

"Stop!" Alemene screeched at the two. She could hear the crowd start murmuring; they had heard her. "Please! I beg you, take your interpretational differences elsewhere. Scripture should have no play in this. The truth is Bevelle's cleric never had to take an oath of celibacy; he would have to be raised in honor in the Church once more before he has to take that vow. We never had a true religious leader because your own Saint Epore forbade Saint Bevelle from rising in the Church two hundred years ago, just as he forbade us any proper religious ceremony."

She leaned forward and held a hand out over the table. "Please, Leoric. The others did not even see us for me to explain. There is nothing here that would go against our mutual beliefs. Epore was the reason we have seen war on and off for over two centuries. Do this for me and Bevelle will seek _nothing_ from Zanarkand ever again. Our armies will never again step foot on Mount Gagazet."

"And of that I have your word and only your word."

"Is that not good enough, Leo? When I have ever broken a promise to you? We have seen a truce during all six years of my reign. My predecessors may have wanted to raze your city but I have done nothing but keep peace between us."

Mabon stood and motioned for one of the aides to come forward with a parchment. Scanning through it, he nodded. He said slowly, "Because your armies were crushed at the foot of the mountain and you now have little more than required to defend Bevelle's gates. I shouldn't have to remind you that the Grand Summoner himself was there and defeated every atrocious machine that was sent at us."

Alemene withdrew her hand, as Leoric hadn't acknowledged the gesture. "I was not there so of that I have only _your _word. Now, if you will not join us, then we will leave."

"I cannot accommodate you and risk excommunication," Leo said.

"Fine…," the duchess bit her bottom lip and glared at him. "Then I spit on your city and pray that you will see the error in your decision. I cannot promise peace between us. You have three days to rescind your decision. After that…I don't know what may happen."

Alemene rose from her seat, slammed a hand down on the table, and pushed off, walking toward the carriage quickly, her heeled shoes clicking on the stone. Megaera followed closely, making the symbolic gesture of spitting upon the plaza stones. It was a curse, a prayer to the forces above asking them to wreak appropriate vengeance upon the transgressor.

Leoric said to Mabon, "It doesn't matter. In a thousand years, no one will remember her name or the name of Saint Bevelle."

"Yes, milord."

"And Zanarkand shall stand strong for millennia to come."

They watched the chocobos turn and draw the carriage back down the street. The gunmechs plodded along with it, two in front and two in back. Their heads swiveled around, scanning every inch of the city that they could see as they passed.

Mabon shook his head, "We should not have accepted their request to come here. Now they will, at the very least, know the layout of the city around the main avenue."

"At least we didn't meet them in the palace or the stadium. From there, they could have seen much more," Leoric sighed. The day's business had just begun and the first issue had already made him uneasy. On the outside, he was the greatest summoner in centuries, able to call forth the mightiest beings in the universe; inside, though, he knew his limits and nothing he could do would stop the full force of Bevelle's machine armies. "Blitz tournament starts today, doesn't it?"

"Yes, sir, your schedule places the tournament opening right after Caderyn's examinations."

"Caderyn?" Leoric asked.

Mabon glanced to the side, "Um, yes, your daughter, milord."

The summoner nodded, "Oh, right. You take care of it."

Leoric placed so little value in his daughter that he frequently didn't remember her name or even that she existed. She had failed him when she wasn't born his son, she had failed him when he learned that she had no innate summoning ability, and she had failed him a third time when she refused to learn noble magic and instead wanted to study the less-than-desirable colleges of divination and alchemy. As far as he was concerned, she wasn't his daughter. She was just another untalented six-year-old girl. _Worthless, just like the lot of them_, he thought, referring to the majority of the citizens of Zanarkand and the rest of the world.

"Will you be off to the Blitz stadium, then? Should I arrange a Guardian battalion to accompany you?"

"Yes, my wife and son will be there."

Mabon bowed slightly and rushed off to see the commander of the Guardian force and obtain some soldiers.

Leoric looked around, unsure of what to do. He wanted to destroy the carriage and its escort before it left the city but he wasn't sure if he could muster the force necessary to strike Bevelle itself before the news reached them. It was probably smarter to let them leave. _Actually, it would probably be more prudent for me to allow them their marriage._

o

In the carriage, Alemene was fuming. Though not a woman who was quick to anger, she _was _a rather violent person when upset. She tried to sit calmly on her padded bench, but just looking at Megaera made the incident stay at the front of her mind. She wanted to forget; who was Leoric to deny her happiness? The whole church seemed to want to keep it from her and they had no right.

And Megaera had shot off her mouth to the Archdeacon Mabon. What if that had been the deciding moment for Leoric? He and Mabon were close and he wasn't likely to simply let some wench talk back to his friend (and certainly not to higher ranked official). Yes, what if it had been her fault?

Completely without warning, Alemene screamed incoherently and launched herself across the carriage to the side Megaera was sitting on. Her arms flailed, beating the poor girl with her open palms and forearms.

Megaera didn't scream. She only curled up into a ball and let the duchess hit her. The other woman wasn't particularly strong, physically, and Meg was. She simply let her mistress do what she would.

Alemene took full advantage of the fact that Meg would never dare to touch her, much less fight back. She slammed her palms into the priestess, an action that more resembled pushing at her than striking her. Feeling as though she wasn't causing enough pain to have it be considered a punishment, she started using her fingers, too. She slapped and scratched at Meg while sobbing; there was no way this girl would get away with ruining her chance at happiness. Her fingers hooked the shoulders of the girl's dress and she pulled as hard as she could, tearing the weak fabric. She grabbed her by the neck and hauled her up off the floor (or, rather, made the girl stand up as she wasn't strong enough to lift her) and proceeded to slap her repeatedly. She wasn't crying anymore. Now she was just taking out some frustration.

Her face was red and her breathing quick; she hadn't been trying to punish Megaera for long before she was too tired to keep it up. With her hand grasping Meg's throat, the girl's nose in the air and her eyes looking down at Alemene, she growled quietly. Her lip curled but they both knew she was done. The last thing Alemene could muster the energy to do is grip the front of Meg's dress and rip down, yanking the torn shoulders off and leaving the girl's chest exposed.

Meg held onto the cloth at her waist to keep the dress from slipping off completely. Once Alemene returned to her seat, she did the same. She wasn't crying at all; she didn't even seem all that hurt. Her face was red from Alemene's many open-palmed hits and her arms were crossed tightly in front of her, covering her bare breasts, but she seemed perfectly fine.

Alemene wasn't happy about that. She had wanted Megaera so be punished and it wasn't a punishment if she wasn't upset or in pain from it.

Of course, she also knew that Meg was a little…different. She was pretty sure that the girl actually _liked _small dosages of pain. She had suspected it for quite awhile. Meg took physical disciplining very well; much better than anyone else in Bevelle's religious order, in fact. As the duchess and hopefully soon-to-be empress of Bevelle and her territories, Alemene had administered many thrashings. Physical chastisement was commonplace in Bevelle but naturally no one preferred it. Meg did.

They sat in silence for what seemed like forever. Alemene sat back, collecting herself. She would contact Leoric again in three days but next time by messenger. She was better off at home when angry—there were fewer people who could see anything and speak badly of her.

As the carriage slowed to a stop, Alemene decided the last thing she would do to Megaera. Humiliation was better than nothing and she had a way to humiliate the girl in a way that the priestess wouldn't find pleasure in. She stood and opened the door, motioning for Meg to exit first.

The girl wrapped her torn dress around her chest and moved past Alemene. Just as she started to step out of the coach, Alemene took hold of her dress with both hands and pulled at it again, shredding the rest of it.

This time, Megaera shrieked with a piercing pitch, shocked as her dress started to give and she lost her balance, finishing the job for Alemene easily. She hit the ground hard, naked except for a thin underskirt. There were soldiers and retainers all around, all able to see her embarrassment. She looked up at her mistress, her mouth ajar and her bottom lip quivering slightly.

Alemene was a little surprised, herself. Meg was _crying_. For once, she was actually _hurt_.

And that actually pleased her. She finally knew what it took to properly discipline the girl. That was how she would punish that beautiful… attractive, young woman.

She stepped down from the carriage and walked around Megaera, who was hugging her knees on the ground. She dropped the remains of the dress on top of her and made her way to the airship that would carry them home.

She took one last look back down the mountain road at Zanarkand. For being as anti-machine as they came off as, they sure did rely heavily on modern technology. There were lights everywhere, all powerful enough to be noticeable in the evening sun. The architects Leoric had used when he decided to turn the city into a work of art had done just that, building superfluous structures everywhere. There were things that had absolutely no purpose except to look pretty, particularly in the moonlight, such as the long, curvaceous tubes of crystal and steel that reached up over the skyscrapers and across entire quarters of the city. All they did was displace and distort light.

They were far more self-indulgent than Bevelle was and they still dared to claim a moral high-ground on the subject of the use of machines.

One day, Bevelle would be the only power in Spira, Alemene knew. That was how it had to be. Zanarkand would fall under the weight of its own corruption. It could be within the month or it could be in a few centuries, but it would happen.

She wanted to be around to see it.

"Are you ready to go, milady?"

She looked over at the faceless lieutenant, a Guado who had been exiled from his commune and had found a place in the duchess' retinue. She almost wished she could remember the man's name, but she likely wouldn't recognize him once the trip was over and she changed the members of her entourage (her behavior had frequently been described as "erratic" by other leading nobles and politicians in Spira.) so there was probably no point to it.

"Yes… let's return home. And I want you to make sure all the scans done by the mechs are properly processed and analyzed. Either I am to be wed by the end of the week or we pronounce vendetta against Leoric. I don't care if it takes a war for vengeance against him, as long as he pays for destroying my chance to be happy."

Erratic behavior was probably the least of anyone's worries.


End file.
